The Gallows Murders

heavy-eyed and sleepy, I dressed in the new clothes sent to me by the King and went down to the Great Hall where I was toasted and cheered. People came up to me, slapping me on the back, saying what a good fellow I was. The whole palace had now heard the news, and everyone thronged about to ask about Herne the Hunter. I told my story, embellishing it where I could; now and again I caught the Great Beast's sardonic glance. I could see he was puzzled, but he couldn't come up with a solution. Afterwards, my belly full and my purse swollen with gold and silver, I stumblingly followed Benjamin back to my room. Agrippa was sitting on the bed waiting for us, a large leather sack tied at the neck on the floor between his feet.
    'Beloved Uncle sends his compliments, dearest Nephew,' he intoned. Tomorrow you are to take this gold into London. You are to leave it on the steps of St Paul's Cross as the cathedral bell tolls the midday Angelus.' 'And the King will do nothing?'
    'Oh, the King will do everything. The place will be swarming with sheriff's men, all in disguise. Royal archers will guard and seal every gateway at the Tower from ten o'clock in the morning onwards.' Agrippa's face broke into a lopsided smile. The King has great confidence in you, Roger. Herne the Hunter has favoured you and vowed you will bring the King safely through this crisis.'
    I groaned and slumped down on a stool. The great bag of wind had closed the trap. If Herne the Hunter had appeared to me, then tomorrow I would be successful. If not, ‘I’d be running for my life again!

Chapter 8
    We left by barge the following morning, just as dawn was breaking. Agrippa walked us down to the quayside, humming some little song under his breath. He helped me to the barge, grasped my hand and pulled me towards him.
    ‘Next time you meet Herne the Hunter,' he whispered, his eyes bright with merriment, 'do give him my regards.'
    I sat down, gaping in surprise as the barge pulled away: Agrippa simply lifted his hand, turned and disappeared into the early morning mist. I'll be honest. I have always wondered whether he was Herne the Hunter. Years later, when old Tom Wolsey had fallen into disgrace because he couldn't get the King a divorce and journeyed south to York to stand trial for treason, I accompanied him. I was there in Leicester Abbey when he fell suddenly sick. (Oh, yes, he was poisoned and, no, it wasn't me.) I knelt by Wolsey's bedside as the death rattle began in his throat, and he confessed all his sins. I squeezed his fat, podgy hand.
    Tell me, Tom,' I asked. (By then I was on first-name terms with everyone; even the Great Beast let me call him Hal!) Tell me, Tom,' I said. 'As you hope to meet your Saviour, did Agrippa dress as Herne the Hunter?'
    Fat Tom shook his head. 'Impossible,' he whispered. ‘He was with me all that day, closeted on the King's business.'
    ‘Ah well, maybe Agrippa got one of his bully-boys to dress the part. I never have found out.
    We reached St Paul's Wharf just as the city church bells tolled for mid-morning Mass. Benjamin had remained quiet during the journey, but now he stirred himself: gripping the bags of gold, he ran up the quayside steps and stared anxiously around. ‘What's wrong, Master?' I asked, following him quickly.
    Benjamin hid the gold beneath his cloak and stared round anxiously. ‘Roger, I feel uneasy!'
    I pointed to the halberdiers and archers still on the barge.
    They'll be with us,' I declared. 'And the King undoubtedly has others hidden around St Paul's Cross.'
    But Benjamin would not be comforted. The royal bodyguard quickly formed a screen around us and we went up towards the towering mass of St Paul's. The city had returned to some form of normality. Traders, hucksters and merchants were busy behind their stalls. Dung-collectors were cleaning the public latrines: they dressed like lazars, covered from head to toe in rags against the foulness and the fetid smells which cloyed the air and caught the throat. There were no signs of any death-carts or red crosses daubed on doors. I glimpsed two cunning men, pickpockets, and idly wondered where Quicksilver was. I still harboured a deep desire to shake him warmly – by the throat! However, as the psalmist says: 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, and Benjamin and I were busy.
    We turned on to Paternoster Row and went up St Paul's Alley which led straight into the cathedral. As we passed, I studied the famous wall paintings of the Dance of